When participating in a 20,000 No Kings people protest in downtown Phoenix, there’s certain things you anticipate, but it turns out, everything I expected to happen – like arrests, vandalism, and chaos – was far from my own experience. Instead, I found myself, picknicking. Right smack in the middle of a very large, caring community, in southern Arizona, collectively marching, dancing, chanting, beeping car horns, revving engines, wearing or waving US and Mexico flags, carrying colorful, hand-made signs, handing out free ice-cold waters and snacks.

This is how I found myself crying and laughing and reminiscing and hoping and theorizing with a complete stranger, about my dad, about social justice, about bipartisan relationships, about death and love and loss, all mixed together, a day before Father’s Day. It didn’t feel like I was at a political protest, interviewing a hospice social worker, it felt like I was catching up with a long-lost friend. Last thing I expected on this journey was to open up, choke back tears, while eating Cheetos, and chugging water with an empathetic stranger, as we relaxed in front of the state capital building in the grassy shade, escaping the triple digit heat. I think this was a brief reprieve, and a welcome new connection, for both of us. The world needs more unexpected, face-to-face, human connections, don’t you think?